


An Errand

by presidentwarden



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, People Watching, Rivalry, Summer, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidentwarden/pseuds/presidentwarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short little thing, set in Denerim’s market. Rivalries flare up as Zev watches Loghain negotiate with another Crow. Fluff fic.</p><p>- - -</p><p>To be outwitted by a disgraced Fereldan is one thing; for it to happen in public is another, and Ignacio glowers. But Loghain insisted, as the Warden recommended, that it be done this way. As far as anyone is concerned, the Wardens have sold the Antivan merchants an antique crossbow, and Loghain is receiving the fair payment from this transaction.</p><p>Loghain’s long strides approach before Zev even notices, and then a tall shadow is falling over them and Loghain welcomes him into his arms, deep velvety voice like music to his ears. “It went well.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Errand

Zevran shadows him like a ghost through the stalls, waiting, watching.

The sun beats down on him, heavy and stifling, the result of a sweltering summer afternoon spent in the Denerim marketplace. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sags against a wall and sighs. He’s opted for a loose linen shirt, light crisp white, and trousers well-fitted and fashionable, the sort the tailor claimed would suit an assassin. Well, they weren’t  _wrong._

To be particular about things, Zevran wasn’t even the one dispatched to the market. That would be Loghain, who’s some distance off, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stands and patiently listens to his target. He wears the Warden leathers admirably, back tall, shoulders squared, figure framed by dappled blue and grey. His contact, an Antivan, is dressed more simply, but the cloth of his neat-cut tunic is lavish enough to show its value, gold embroidery and silken thread adorning it. Of course a Crow would flaunt his wealth.

Zev didn’t even ask the reasons for why the Warden chose to send Loghain to this dangerous meeting, instead of dispatching herself or any other companion whose presence might turn fewer heads. Especially after the Landsmeet, the stir of political volatility that comes with the mere mention of Loghain’s name is impossible to ignore. To have him here in the flesh, striding around Denerim unaccompanied -- it is a miracle that crowds haven’t already gathered.

The nobles shopping at the luxury carts are already too preoccupied with the sweltering heat to notice who walks among them. They cool themselves with delicately crafted fans and gourmet ice drinks, dripping with sweat through their thick satin garments. Zevran’s gaze roams appreciatively over them, inspecting the way rich fabrics cling to a damp sleek form, but his attention inevitably turns back to Loghain, studying him, admiring him, even with that trim waist hidden beneath uniform Warden garb. As if reading Zev’s distant thoughts, Loghain absentmindedly cinches up the belt, layered scales of light metal framing his hips. Zev licks his lips, pushing a strand of golden hair out of his face that’s clung to his forehead.

Behind the Orlesian saleswoman, a mabari naps contentedly, curled up on its side, panting in its sleep. Bath oils and gourmet pastries change hands at a frenzied pace. Dwarven vendors peddle their wares ceaselessly -- fish, armor, trinkets. A pile of gold spills out across a finely carved side table at Ignacio’s booth, ostentatious and glittering, sunlight twinkling across the embossed coins. Zev feels a twinge of yearning, imagining their metallic clinking in his palm. The other Crow affiliate, Cesar, is guarding the cages, standing with crossed arms, disallowing any clients for the merchant stall till Loghain’s business is over. Nugs lounge about in the shade of their cage, blissfully unaware of their potential fate as a housepet or a meal. A large bear stands listlessly, claws weakly scraping at the confines of its pen -- not enough space to turn around, too narrow to lie down, with slats wide enough that it can mournfully look out now and then, but nothing more. The creature’s forced to be on display until it tires and its life gives out, or else, some generous soul happens upon it and lets it free.

Zev tries hard not to draw any analogies.

He straightens his back and lets such thoughts slip away, sighing as a blessedly well-timed shadow falls upon his corner of the marketplace, allowing a moment of relief from the overbearing heat. Kicking idly at a clod of grassy turf with the toe of one of his fine leather boots, he freezes as he feels the chill of Ignacio’s stare fall upon him, but when he looks back, the master’s attention is focused on Loghain, as it has been all along. Puzzling.

The dwarven vendor near him is shouting to catch the attention of the shoppers, and Zev has half a mind to scoop up a handful of water from the nearby trough and flick it in his direction to silence him by distraction. But good sense wins out, and he just leans over, shaking his head. “Don’t waste your breath on these nobles.” He slinks away around the corner before the vendor can respond.

Zev lean down and wets his palms in the basin, running them over his face and letting cool water drip down his throat and chest, soaking the collar of his shirt. Instinctively, as always, he traces the mark on his face, left in ink as a souvenir of the Crows. He’s far past minding it, of course, but watching Ignacio from a distance, who can easily pass as a civilian, visibly free from Crow influence -- it’s difficult for Zev not to feel the bitterness, sharp as a sour taste at the tip of his tongue. He lets his focus return to Loghain, and feels his attitude softening. The man’s hands are clasped behind his back now, awaiting the resolution of the deal. His expression is neutral, but there’s a stern glint in his eyes that would strike fear into the heart of any adversary. Zevran has watched enough enemies falter and fall on Loghain’s sword to know the power of that gaze.

Loghain knows he’s here. They agreed to that beforehand; should the Crows turn on Loghain or refuse to offer their cooperation, a payment for a deal done in secret and a deed done outside the law, then Zev will intervene. He has no hesitation about doing this, providing the extra level of safety for his lover. He’s shaken off Taliesin and House Arainai, no longer even offering the last name when asked to identify himself to anyone he doesn’t trust. To say he has no lingering fear of the Crows would be untrue, but he now knows it’s based in instinct, not fact. They are just men, like any other. This thought comforts him, strange as it may feel to acknowledge.

Ignacio bristles, and Loghain tilts his head to the side slightly, neatly woven braids framing his face as always. Zev would know; he did them this morning for him while they sat together in the bath, a sleepy slow-paced start to the day. They are still at that stage of romance where they cling during spare waking moments, and button each other’s shirts for an excuse to touch, and there’s no point in concealing it. The Warden knows. Some of her associates know. Zevran takes pride in it all.

A faint smirk ghosts across Zev’s face as Loghain draws himself up, staring down the taller man, and Ignacio gives in. A pile of those glistening golden coins is hastily piled onto the tabletop scales, then swept into a small pouch and handed to Loghain, who pockets it with an accommodating smile. To be outwitted by a disgraced Fereldan is one thing; for it to happen in public is another, and Ignacio glowers. But Loghain insisted, as the Warden recommended, that it be done this way. As far as anyone is concerned, the Wardens have sold the Antivan merchants an antique crossbow, and Loghain is receiving the fair payment from this transaction.

Loghain’s long strides approach before Zev even notices, and then a tall shadow is falling over them and Loghain welcomes him into his arms, deep velvety voice like music to his ears. “It went well.”

“I saw.” Zev’s hands rest on his shoulders, playing with the quilted fabric, sewn to fit in rich Warden blue. A metal half-breastplate emblazoned with a griffon rests across Loghain’s broad chest, and Zev trails long fingers down the cool plate of silverite, gazing up to meet Loghain’s eyes and getting lost in those blue-grey depths for a split second before his wits return. “Ignacio did not threaten your life, I hope? Weaselly little man that he is, I would not be surprised if he has a crossbow trained at your back as we speak.”

Loghain chuckles, a low rumble deep in his chest. “Hopefully not the very same one that I just sold him.” He clears his throat, as if to emphasize this, and glances back over his shoulder, breaking their shared gaze for just a moment. “He’s watching us. Be mindful of that.”

 _“Is_ he?” Zev draws himself up, and hooks an arm around Loghain’s waist, tugging him to stand so they’re both in the merchant stall’s clear view. Loghain may be tall, but for an elf, Zev is, too. He only needs to stand on his tiptoes, sacrificing dignity for romance as he grabs hold of Loghain, hands placed on either side of his noble face, thumbs resting on his high cheekbones. He kisses him full on the mouth, right in front of the Antivans and the market and the Maker himself, and after a moment of surprise Loghain returns the kisses, tasting the clear sweetness of fresh water on Zev’s tongue, full lips pressing against each other. At last they breathlessly gasp for air, still wrapped up in one another’s taste and touch.

It is some moments before they pull apart, both reluctant. Zev disentangles himself with a triumphant grin and Loghain just looks flustered, red-faced from the embarrassment and the stifling heat. Zev laughs, holding onto a fistful of Loghain’s collar. “That was petty.” He beams up at him, sun glinting off his golden hair, teeth bright in a cheery grin. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, I suppose that sent a message.” Loghain ruefully glances off to the side, inspecting the merchant stall. Neither Antivan is looking their way. “Or not.”

“Don’t be fooled. We Crows have learned to use complicated systems of hidden mirrors so we are always looking every direction--” Zev breaks off mid-sentence to laugh. “No, no. Oh, don’t be silly. I would have kissed you like that even if there was not another soul around to see.” He reaches into Loghain’s pocket, taking the time to caress the curve of his hip through the cloth while his hand is there, and withdraws the small bag of gold pieces. “Hmm. How shall we spend our fortunes?”

Loghain’s hand covers Zev’s own, hiding the pouch of sovereigns, and he gently returns it to the pocket, safe and secure until the money can be returned to Warden safekeeping. “That isn’t for us, yet.”

“Isn’t it?” A feigned pout, and then Zev reaches into one of the holsters at his hip, a matched pair. One contains a dagger, naturally. From the other, he pulls a bar of gold, offering it tantalizingly. “Then it’s very fortunate that I have this instead. May I treat you to a late lunch? At the Gnawed Noble, perhaps? No, no, that won’t do. Someplace nicer...”

“Perhaps, but let it be my treat.” Loghain agrees, and grasps his hand, leading him off to investigate their options. The Crows stare from afar with watchful gazes, and Zev wears a grin as he retreats, framed in silhouette by the sun’s bright light. Before they turn the corner, Zev’s eyes lock with his adversary’s, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. Ignacio looks away.


End file.
